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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134768">You Don't Know It Yet (But Baby, I've Already Got Your Heart)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStrings_OnMe/pseuds/NoStrings_OnMe'>NoStrings_OnMe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Fall, they're on the run together!, will tests hannibal's patience</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:56:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134768</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStrings_OnMe/pseuds/NoStrings_OnMe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>you know that outfit that's been circulating on twitter? yeah, that one.</p><p>Will pieces it together during their stops at gas stations across the U.S while the pair is on the run after the fall.</p><p>Hannibal barely holds it together.</p><p>Title from An Unhealthy Obsession by The Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You Don't Know It Yet (But Baby, I've Already Got Your Heart)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>      “What d’ya think?” Will asks, placing his hands upon hips in a mock model position.</p><p>      The two of them were in a gas station somewhere deep in the Midwest, corn fields and bland wheat as far as the eye could see. They had been driving for hours, haven taken off from Chiyoh’s safe house as soon as their wounds from the fall had healed.</p><p>      Hannibal said he was taking them to a true safe house, one where they could live unperturbed for as long as they liked under assumed identities. Will, groggy with pain meds and what was probably pure lust, had agreed, piling himself into the passenger seat of the old SUV and allowing Hannibal to direct them.</p><p>      Now, in the dingy rest stop, he was enthusiastically perusing their collection of souvenirs. Much to his partner-in-crime’s dismay.</p><p>      Hannibal sighs deeply, turning away from the display of dried meats to see him. “A hat?” he asks calmly, attempting to keep the distain out of his voice.</p><p>     “A <em>cool </em>hat,” Will corrects, straightening the offending garment on his head. “<em>Super</em> cool, I might say.”<br/>
            The garment in question was a puke-green color with white mesh, sitting boldly atop Will’s head, unfitted. In bright orange letters it proclaimed, “WOMEN WANT ME, FISH FEAR ME.”</p><p>     “It certainly obscures your face,” Hannibal commented, selecting two varieties of beef jerkey and adding them to his basket. “Is this part of your disguise?”</p><p>     Will scoffed, tossing a bag of Cheez-Itz into the basket as well, despite Hannibal’s physical revulsion. “No, Hannibal,” he said, careful to keep his voice low. “I just think it’s cool.”</p><p>      “Cool,” Hannibal repeated, his accent coloring the word with distain. “That is all?”</p><p>            Will nodded, adding some Twizzlers to the basket as well. “Yep,” he replied, popping the last syllable of the word.</p><p>            Hannibal sighed again, attempting to keep the emotion out of his breath. “I         suppose it is fine,” he allowed, removing the hat from Will’s head and adding it to the shopping cart. “Go wait in the car, dear,” he instructed lightly, and Will practically skipped to the SUV in the parking lot. Hannibal refrained from shaking his head, and instead payed for their items in cash, avoiding eye contact with the bored cashier who couldn’t have cared less about the man before him.</p><p>            In the car, Will dug eagerly through the plastic bag, shoving a piece of the teriyaki beef jerky into his mouth with abandon. Hannibal groaned lightly as he placed the car into reverse, taking off down the highway at an almost appropriate speed.</p><p>            “I think it brings out my eyes,” Will remarked, staring at himself in his new hat in the passenger seat mirror. He brushed his curls out of his eyes, and Hannibal gulped.</p><p>            “Certainly,” Hannibal replied, gripping the steering wheel.</p><p>            Will smirked, adjusting the hat, before leaning back in the seat. “I love it,” he declared, closing his eyes.</p><p>            “As you wish,” Hannibal murmured, turning onto the highway. Will was already dozing, then, and Hannibal’s grip became tighter.</p><p>            How was he to make it to the coast?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>            Will startled as they made it to their next rest stop, his body jolting with the harsh mechanics of the SUV. Hannibal said nothing as he exited the car, refraining from locking it as he expected Will to join him. Will unbuckled hastily, smoothing his hair back and adjusting his hat, before entering the gas station.</p><p>            “What about these?” he asked, holding up a pair of shorts, extremely<em> short </em>by the looks of them.</p><p>            Hannibal held his breath, reading the word printed across the backside in a monotone voice. “<em>God won’t let me die.</em>”<br/>
            “A bit on the nose, don’t you think?” he asked, pretending to browse the gas station’s collection of bottled water.</p><p>            “Not at all,” Will countered, tossing the shorts into Hannibal’s basket. “I think they’re quite ironic,” he whispered against Hannibal’s ear, before trotting off back to the car.</p><p>            Hannibal groaned internally, looking up at the ceiling before adding two bottles of the most expensive water to the cart. He studiously avoided eye contact with the cashier as the young lady checked him out, although she again was clearly disinterested in the man’s purchases.</p><p>            “You going to try them on?” Hannibal snapped when he reentered the car, throwing the bag at Will.</p><p>            Will smirked, tucking the bag underneath his feet. “I know they’ll fit,” he asserted confidently, forcing Hannibal to grit his teeth again as he merged back on to the highway.</p><p>            “They had better,” he muttered, and Will chuckled mirthlessly.</p><p>            “Or what?” he wondered, eyeing Hannibal curiously. He licked his bottom lip while Hannibal studiously kept his gaze even with Will’s.</p><p>            “They had better fit,” he repeated simply, turning his eyes to the road ahead.</p><p>            Will sucked in a breath, relaxing back into the passenger seat.</p><p>            <em>Well, guess they’d better fit.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>            “Absolutely not, Will,” Hannibal iterated, not even turning toward Will as he selected a few bags of dried fruit. In his peripheral vision, Will was holding up a large white shirt with some sort of print on the front, waving it excitedly back and forth to catch the other man’s attention.</p><p>            “Hannibal, you haven’t even looked at it yet,” Will pushed, his southern drawl coming out in the way he always knew softened Hannibal’s edges.</p><p>            With the world’s most put-upon sigh, Hannibal turned slightly, just enough to read the shirt. There was an odd but colorful drawing of a fish with a long snout in the middle of the chest and, printed in simple block lettering above, it read: <em>   Straight Zooted. </em></p><p>            “I don’t even know what that means,” Hannibal explained, exasperated. He continued down the aisle, adding a few more items to the basket. Will scrambled after him, still gripping the too-large shirt in his hands.</p><p>            “I think it’s slang,” Will tried. “Like, really tired. Or something.”</p><p>            “You want me to buy you a shirt that you do not even completely understand.” Hannibal stopped in the middle of the store, folding his arms across his chest and allowing the basket to dangle. He raised an eyebrow, and Will countered with one of his own.</p><p>            “It’s called a <em>vibe</em>, old man,” he retorted, moving closer to Hannibal so that the two were practically nose-to-nose. “You just have to feel it,” he added, softer this time, and smirked at Hannibal’s pained expression before tucking the shirt into the basket. He patted Hannibal’s folded elbow gently before turning around and walking toward the exit. “I’ll meet you in the car,” he called, and it took several minutes of controlled breathing with his eyes closed before Hannibal was composed enough to check out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>            After nearly a week of driving, stopping at various safe houses and switching identities and vehicles at least three times, they were almost arrived at what Hannibal told Will was their real destination. Will was getting antsy from all the time in the car, usually void of conversation except the occasional request for a bathroom break. His back was sore, he was sure that he smelled, and he ached for a chance to settle down and rest for real.</p><p>            “This will be our last stop before we reach the house,” Hannibal told him, exiting smoothly off the highway to a small gas station. “It will be about three more hours, depending on traffic.”</p><p>            Will grunted in assent, unbuckling and making his way inside, a few steps behind Hannibal. He was still half-asleep from his afternoon nap, unusually grump from the remnants of a bad dream. Not the usual murder-soaked stag nightmares this time, thank god, but an equally terrifying amalgam of dark wooded forests, his heart tight in his chest and his breath burning as he ran, chased, by an unknown force. Right before Hannibal had woken him, dream-Will had tripped, fallen in the snow of the mysterious forest. He was right about to turn around and face his assailant when he was brought back to the real world by Hannibal’s soft tap on his shoulder.</p><p>            “Okay,” he grumbled, wiping furiously at his eyes. He unbuckled and followed Hannibal into the gas station, hoping for an energy drink or something to wash away the remnants of the dram and keep him alert for the rest of the dream.</p><p>            In his search, however, something else caught his eyes.</p><p>            “William,” Hannibal said sternly, but appearing bored as he selected from the store’s iced and bottled coffees. “No more. You don’t need any more…souvenirs.”</p><p>            “<em>Hannibal</em>,” he keened, tucking his chin into the shelf of the man’s shoulder and neck. He could feel Hannibal tense a bit at the intimate gesture, but the quick intake of the other’s breath made Will sure that he was free to continue. “I need these, though. They’re not a ‘souvenir’.”</p><p>            Hannibal turned and frowned at the pair of shoes Will dangled from his fingertips. They were Crocs, almost, but they were laced up at the ankle like a pair of combat boots. All black, leathery and shiny, Hannibal had to hold back a groan at the sight of the offending garment.</p><p>            “No,” he said, eyes hard.</p><p>            “Please,” Will pleaded, his eyes wide and his lips turned down slightly. Hannibal steeled his gaze, attempting to ignore the pull deep in his gut, and shook his head again. “I will not purchase those for you, Will. They’re hideous, for one, and for two, they have no practical purpose. What are they? House shoes? Boots? Come on,” he said.</p><p>            Will simply turned his mouth down further, almost whimpering. “For me?” he whispered, shaking the boots.</p><p>            Hannibal closed his eyes, counted to five, and took a deep breath. “Will,” he began. “Why do you think you need those shoes?”</p><p>            Will shrugged. “Don’t need ‘em,” he admitted. “I just want ‘em.”<br/>
            Hannibal dragged in another breath. He walked closer to Will, slowly, and took the boots from him, brushing their fingers together.</p><p>            “I could never deny you a thing, now, could I?” he whispered. Will’s eyes widened, as if the answer was unexpected, and nodded loosely.</p><p>            “I’ll wait in the car,” he got out, strangled.</p><p>Hannibal had already turned to cash out their purchases.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>            When they pulled into the driveway of their final safehouse, the ride had been silent. Will gathered his bags of insane clothes while Hannibal grabbed the cooler with the rest of their drinks and snacks, and they made their way into the house. It was dark and cool, a wooden cabin in the middle of the deep woods, yet it felt like home the instant they walked through the door.</p><p>            “The bedrooms are upstairs,” Hannibal said simply, and Will didn’t bother to respond before walking up the stairs and shutting his door. This room, however, felt cold and musty, the sheets folded primly in the closet. The bed was huge, soft even from looking at it, but he could not imagine it comfortable for him alone. Nevertheless, Will removed his shoes and laid on his back in the middle of it, sinking into the foam.</p><p>            With the light of the evening fading through the thick blinds, he fell to sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>            Hannibal stood at the stove the next morning, his thick blue robe wrapped around him as the cabin’s heater kicked into full gear. He flipped the eggs in the pan, watching the whites bubble. He sipped his coffee, wincing slightly at its acrid taste. This house didn’t have a French press; he had needed to slum it with a simple drip coffee.</p><p>            When he heard footsteps coming down the main staircase, he purposefully didn’t turn around. “There’s coffee on,” he called. “Mugs are in the cupboard above the sink.”</p><p>            “Hannibal,” Will said softly, and he heard the footsteps stop at the entrance to the kitchen.</p><p>            “I am also making eggs,” Hannibal continued. “I hope you like over-easy.”</p><p>            “<em>Hannibal</em>,” Will repeated, his voice more insistent but still soft.</p><p>            He sighed. “Yes, Wil-”</p><p>            Hannibal’s voice died in his throat. Before him, Will was decked out in his entire outfit of recent purchases. The fish tee shirt draped large over his thin body, but he had tied it in a knot at his bellybutton, showing off the very tight shorts. The thin white trim hugged the thick muscles of his thighs, going all the way down to the laces of his Croc-boots, tied in large bows. The hat sat haphazardly on his head, his curls loose and wild around his face.</p><p>            And his face, open and searching, looking at Hannibal with affection.</p><p>            “What’dya think?”</p><p>            Hannibal moved closer, eyes sharp. He took in the look, brushing his knuckles against Will’s cheek.</p><p>            “Breathtaking,” he said simply, grabbing Will’s chin and pulling him into a kiss.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
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